


Of Truths And Other Absurd Notions

by WaitingToBeBroken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Or Is he?, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, Truth Spells, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingToBeBroken/pseuds/WaitingToBeBroken
Summary: Crowley is hit with a curse that makes it very deadly not to Tell the Truth. Which, considering the fact he is a demon and has been hiding a particular secret from a particular angel for 6 thousand years, is not ideal.The way Aziraphale is fretting over him andtouchinghim is really not helping.





	1. Chapter 1

If pressed, Crowley would claim he had merely sauntered into the bookshop, hips swaying with practiced seduction.  
  
The reality, however, was quite different. The demon crashed through the door, the tightness in his chest making him dizzy on his feet. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, he collided with one of the tables and sent flying to the floor a few not-so-important-looking books. Thank Someone for that, or the angel would have had his head if it had been something he actually enjoyed.  
  
Speaking of Aziraphale, at the sound of the mayhem, or, knowing him, sensing something happening to his books, he poked his head from the backroom. His face's expression started on a journey, boarding from mild surprise, making a tiny pit stop at delight when he laid eyes on Crowley, calling at annoyance when he noticed the mess and then finally terminating at concern when he took in the general appearance of the demon before him.  
  
Crowley knew exactly how he looked- his hair wild, pale skin- flushed, wide-eyed behind the sunglasses. The thing around his lungs making it so hard to breathe he was panting.  
  
"Are you okay, my dear?" Aziraphale took a step towards him and the demon wanted to shout at him to stay away. Then again, he had been the one to come to the shop, in the first place.  
  
"No. I think there is something wrong with me," Crowley answered automatically, words slipping between lips that had not been ordered to move. The pain subsided, just slightly, but enough for his shoulders to slump with the release of the stress.  
  
Only to tense once again as the angel reached out, warm, soft fingers brushing the hair away from his forehead and pressing lightly. Crowley growled threateningly, even as he leaned into the touch. Almost on their own accord, his eyes fluttered shut. That was better. He felt like he could finally breathe again.  
  
"What happened? Was it Downstairs?" The angel asked, concern tinting his words, voice tense. He was worrying his bottom lip and the demon stared, wishing he could-  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Again, the answer was ripped from him and Crowley felt violated and sick. He let himself be guided by a warm hand on the small of his back to the backroom, where he let his body collapse on the familiar couch.  
  
Aziraphale was fretting over him, checking for a fever or any other injuries on his body, but thankfully, not asking any questions so the demon just let his head loll back, the buzz of his thoughts deafening. He realized now would be the best time for him to explain what was happening. The angel was not asking questions, which meant he could actually control what was said. Not lie, per se. But not tell the whole truth, either.  
  
The trouble was, he had absolutely no idea how to word the predicament he had found himself in. On the way there, for the first time since cars had been invented, and, thus, rules for their proper conduct, Crowley had actually followed them. The last thing he had wanted was for some annoying, power-hungry, glorified stop-sign to stop him and _ask_ for an explanation. What was the demon supposed to say?  
  
'Oh, sorry, Mr. Police Officer, sir. I just happened to become very keen on Telling the Truth, even when people are not very interested in hearing it. And there is only one being I trust not to abuse this so I was rushing towards him, hopefully, before I discorporate. Also, I can only hope he doesn't ask me anything that might reveal the fact I have been stupidly in love with him from the moment I saw his stupid curls catch the stupid sunlight back in that stupid Garden. Which, considering the fact I can't go 5 minutes without thinking about should be _fucking easy_.'  
  
He had had enough time to think of an explanation, an excuse, anything, but instead, Crowley being Crowley, he had decided to wing it. So this was exactly what he said. Minus the last half, that just sounded pathetic.  
  
"Oh dear," Aziraphale sighed, sounding appropriately concerned but the demon couldn't help noticing the way the nerves bled out of his body and colour returned to his cheeks.  
  
Fine. It wasn't the end of the world. But it had the potential to be, if Crowley was not extremely careful.  
  
"I gather, then, I should be very careful with the way I talk."  
  
It wasn't a proper question, but there must have been something in the other's tone because as if an invisible force was making Crowley nod his head.  
  
A hand flew to Aziraphale's mouth as he gasped in horror. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear. Would- I'm going to make us some tea."  
  
With that, the angel was leaving and Crowley was decidedly not staring at his back. This would be fine. He would be fine. He just needed to refrain from thinking about his friend's perfect body next to him, the way his eyes twinkled. The softness of his smile.  
  
Just then, Aziraphale decided to pop a head from the kitchen, his cheeks flushed from the heat and his curls glowing like a halo around his beautiful face and Crowley was fucked. And not in the nice way.  
  
"Perhaps, it would be better to venture outside. More distractions that way." The angel spoke slowly, carefully, as if he was picking each word with the utmost of care.  
  
Crowley didn't feel the urge to wring his heart and watch the darkness run freely, so, he thought, that was an improvement. He shook his head.  
  
"It's going to get worse," he explained, fully realizing how paranoid he sounded, but feeling like he was allowed it. As if he had won a battle, one probably against himself, and the paranoia was his spoils of war. "Better not be around people if I start talking about Heaven or Hell."  
  
'Or loving you,' his mind supplied helpfully.  
  
Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully. A minute later he was back, two teacups and a plate of biscuits balancing on a tray in his hands. The demon wondered if perhaps he should add something extra to his cup, he surely deserved it, but decided against it immediately. The last thing he wanted was for his inhibitions to suffer at such a moment.  
  
But this, sipping tea quietly in the backroom, while Aziraphale was babbling about some thing or another, probably to distract them both, this was nice. It felt familiar and comforting and Crowley let himself relax into it. How many days had he spent just like this, staring at his angel, the way he waved his hands around excitedly, wishing he could kiss the gentle flush climbing his neck.  
  
The tightness was back, eating away at his insides like acid and Crowley gasped as he clutched at his chest.  
  
"Aziraphale," he whined, breathless then decidedly did not think how that could have sounded in another context.  
  
"Oh." The teacup rattled angrily at being shoved on the nearest flat(ish) surface and in a blink of an eye the angel was kneeling in front of him, hands on the demon's knees.  
  
Crowley, for one, was grateful for the pain because he was certain the way his body would have reacted to the image before him would have been very telling.  
  
"Ask me something." It was getting hard to breathe again and he had been right, it was getting worse. When the other just stared at him in shock, he actually begged, "Please, angel."  
  
"Oh, my." Aziraphale's eyes were widening, turning just a little glassy and that was not good. The demon knew that look, it meant his friend was panicking. In desperation, Crowley grasped at the hands on his knees and _don't think how warm they are, don't think_ , squeezed.  
  
"What did you do yesterday?" The angel all but squeaked, his unnaturally pale face only inches away from Crowley's and the demon could smell the blueberry tea on his lips. It would be so easy to dip down and taste it too.  
  
Then he realized what he had been asked. Yes. Yes, that _was_ an innocent question, one people asked each other every single day, as if something so drastic would ever happen to them. It would have been perfect, had Crowley not spent the whole day rolling around in bed, the image of thick forearms, covered in blond hairs, a soft neck, not guarded by a bow tie, smiling red lips, haunting him, taunting him. There had also been a voice, one the victims of his temptations had always found so irresistible, whispering in his ear and making his hand travel south.  
  
_"Come on, just this time, just once. Do it and you will feel better."_  
  
Except that he knew that he wouldn't because then he would have to face the angel, with his innocent eyes and his open smile, and it would feel like the demon had tarnished him. In this moment, for an entirely different, but equally selfish reason, Crowley was glad he hadn't succumbed to the desire yesterday.  
  
Because, now, he could say, "Nothing much. Thought of you," and mean it. If God was watching, maybe this was Her way of apologising for his Fall. Quite fitting really. The demon considered them even now.  
  
The last drop of worry bled out of Aziraphale's expression as he beamed up at him. "That is so sweet, my dear. Why, I thought of you as well."  
  
'Certainly not the way I did,' Crowley growled in his mind, but, thankfully, did not voice. For now. Who knew what might happen later on.  
  
"Okay," the demon tried, voice still wavering slightly, but that was to be expected, considering he felt like he had narrowly escaped a heart attack. "We need to figure this out."  
  
"Tell me if you have angered anyone lately." Aziraphale was back to sounding like a robot and it would have been funny if it was not so endearing. He really was trying so very hard and Crowley had to beat the affection swelling in his chest, with a stick.  
  
"Oh, I don't know." He was aiming for sarcasm, but it did not quite work with the way he was still gasping for breath. "Can't think of anyone except maybe the _whole bloody Hell_."  
  
A scowl was blooming across Aziraphale's features, and judging from the size of it Crowley was in for a lecture on what is and isn't appropriate to joke about when one had found themselves cursed. But before it had reached maturity, the demon was squeezing his friend's hands again. Anyone witnessing the scene would swear on anything they had ever loved that there had not been a sob escaping Crowley's lips just now, from fear of a rather painful dismembering. You would think normal dismembering would work just as well, but you would be wrong. What the demon promised was extraordinary, the dismembering of a lifetime, if you would.  
  
"Why do you think it's Hell?" The angel was ready now, firing out the question the moment agony flashed in the other's eyes. Crowley just shook his head, his nails digging into soft skin.  
  
"Doesn't work. Need. Personal."  
  
"I don't-," Aziraphale stammered, "What's your favourite food?"  
  
Crowley's body had almost doubled over from the pain, his heart beating so fast that if he was mortal he would have already keeled over. "You know this. Angel. Please."  
  
"Favourite animal?"  
  
"Snake." As soon as the answer was out, air was pouring into shriveled lungs, crisp and refreshing. Crowley was too busy enjoying it, trying to get as much as possible before it was too late, he could not react to the soft pressure on his knees moving away as the angel got up. All for the better, because he had no idea how he would have explained the whine that almost escaped his lips.  
  
"Right, this has gone too far," Aziraphale exclaimed, gravely, the same way he sounded when one of his customers got too close to purchasing a book. "I must admit I thought this was rather silly, but it _is_ hurting you."  
  
"My angel, always believing in me," Crowley teased weakly and all he got for his humour was an eye-roll.  
  
"Why- Tell me what you know so far." Orders didn't work, _yet_ , so Crowley was allowed a moment to compile everything that had happened in a disappointingly short list of everything they knew.  
  
"As far as I can tell, I need you to ask me questions or I might die. The intervals are uneven. The questions need to be somewhat personal and not something you knew-"  
  
"But I could have guessed about the snake."  
  
" _But_ you didn't know for sure," Crowley snapped. His hands cradled his head as he thought out loud, a dangerous activity for someone in his situation, "Each time you ask me it gets worse and worse and requires a more personal question. It almost seems like it's building up to something. Like it wants me to say something. Something speci-"  
  
The demon froze, a thousand thoughts crashing around in his mind like bumper cars.  
  
"It is Hell," he claimed, more certain than ever before. "They want me to say _it._ "  
  
"Wh- Tell me what they want you to say." There was just a hint of a questioning note there, a little upturn of the angel's voice at the end and Crowley winced, preparing for the inevitable bile of truth pressing in his throat.  
  
When nothing happened, he shook his head. "There are things you don't know about me, angel."  
  
The pressure was back on his knees, patting softly, and the demon's legs bounced on their own. "Nonsense, my dear. I know everything there is to know about you. That's precisely why this whole exercise is turning rather dire."  
  
'You don't know the most important one.' Crowley's grimace at the thought turned into horror as he felt it struggle to leave his lips, completely unprompted. His tongue was forming words in his mouth and he bit it viciously.  
  
He tried to focus on something else, anything, and his gaze fell down, anchoring the ship of his thoughts to the hand on his leg. It was still there, rubbing lightly at his thigh in what was probably supposed to be a soothing manner. Crowley realized two things. First, that in a very perverse way he had to thank the curse because he couldn't remember the angel ever touching him for so long and, second, that despite his deep-seated panic, his traitorous body was also taking notice of the unusual caress.  
  
He must have shown something, because at once Aziraphale looked down at his hand in shock, as if it was something removed from him, and snatched it back. Before Crowley had time to say anything, possibly apologise, but for what, a pained expression creased the angel's face as he jumped away. Something inside the demon felt unbelievably cold.  
  
"I'm so very sorry, my dear," Aziraphale was talking, fingers curling as if to stop themselves from reaching out for him and wasn't that an absurd notion. "I know how much you don't like being touched. I really didn't mean to-"  
  
Crowley could have asked a million things, the most pressing being where the rotten Hell did the angel get this idea from but the pain was back, twisting his body, every molecule of his being vibrating with it. It took some effort to keep his face blank, even now, the most important thing being not to worry the other, but Aziraphale still knew and he was crouching in front of him, hands careful not to touch him again. Somehow, this hurt more than the curse.  
  
They had to circle through a million different variations of "What's your favourite thing?", with the angel growing desperate every time it failed, and who the fuck even had a favourite piece of furniture, and, yep, apparently Crowley did and apparently Aziraphale knew what it was because there was no urge to reveal the answer. It was the couch in the backroom, wasn't it? Of course it was.  
  
"What's your favourite part of the day?"  
  
"Evening." It sanded down the edges of the pain, at least enough for the demon to regain his ability to think. But apparently he was not done talking yet, "It's when I see you."  
  
He knew there was horror in his eyes and it took him a second to realise the glasses he would usually hide behind were gone, having fallen down somewhere in the midst of all the shouting and pain. Something tortured passed through Aziraphale's face, something deep and aching. He felt sorry for the demon, Crowley's mind supplied, and if it was possible, his heart sunk even lower.  
  
"Please, just tell me what's bothering you. Whatever it is, no matter how horrible, I would never think any less of you. Please, my dear, I detest seeing you suffer like this."  
  
Aziraphale was pleading with him, voice soft and eyes wide. It almost made the demon reveal the secret he had burrowed in his heart millennia ago. He had never been able to say no to his angel, he would whine and he would grumble and he would be impossibly difficult while he was doing what the other had asked but it would always be done perfectly.  
  
It would also stop this torture, provided the part of his mind that was too stupid and slow to join the parade in honour of Crowley's famous and very deep insecurities. The angel might not even push him away immediately. Things had certainly been better between them after the whole Apocawasn't fiasco, what with Aziraphale not turning around and saying, "Right, I don't need you anymore," like the demon had been sure he would. It was almost like before, with them meeting in art galleries, going to concerts, trying all those new restaurants popping around in London. Dates, that same daft part supplied, they were going on dates.  
  
And yet Crowley was shaking his head, averting his gaze. The angel would never share his feelings, he would never even touch him for fuck's sake. Which, for some reason, might have been the demon's fault, but he stored that thought for later, determined to get to the bottom of it once he didn't feel like his heart would crawl out of his throat and dance the gavotte in front of them.  
  
He could tell Aziraphale was disappointed and that was fine, at least it was familiar territory. The angel rose to his feet, sighing.  
  
"I guess I should give Anathema a call on the cellular device, then. If it is a curse Hell put on you, perhaps, she would be able to help us."  
  
Crowley almost corrected him, "Just call it a bloody phone, angel," but then something occurred to him. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, a new idea forming in his mind.  
  
"So, uh, you and Anathema, hm?" he started in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice. It really wasn't but the angel was too distracted trying to operate the phone Crowley had bought him last Christmas. Yes, the demon had been forced to celebrate the holiday. No, he had not enjoyed the way Aziraphale's eyes would light up when he opened his presents, the lights from the Christmas tree dancing in his curls. The demon peered over his shoulder, almost sighing when he saw him typing the number, one digit at a time, even though Anathema's name was right there on the screen and he could just press it and it would connect. Like he had shown the angel a million times. But no, he was on a mission to unearth all of this, he couldn't get distracted by how inept and adorable Aziraphale was being. "Talk much?"  
  
At that the angel did look at him, beaming, and almost proudly declared. "Yes, in fact. I would think we have become rather good friends, really. Although, I have not been able to talk to her much these past few weeks, what with our sudden road-trip and everything."  
  
The road-trip, Crowley thought, was at fault. The angel had mentioned one day that he was growing restless in his bookshop, now when they had no one to order them around, and next thing the demon knew he was packing and they were driving around the countryside, Aziraphale gushing about how beautiful the Lake district was this time of year. He wasn't even sure if his friend had even _asked_ for a road-trip, but he had wanted one and Crowley was so terrible at saying no. They had traveled together many times, mostly under the guise of work, but it had never been like that. He blamed the angel, with his smiles and his enthusiasm, and his map with carefully charted roads they were supposed to take to their next destination that Crowley loved ignoring. The angel, with his endearments and his soft gazes, making the demon almost forget he was not supposed to enjoy visiting one museum after the other and marveling at how artfully the humans had got everything wrong.  
  
And there had also been the heat. Whoever had invented climate change, and it was humans, before anyone said otherwise, had done the demon dirty. Because suddenly, his friend was not comfortable running around with a million layers on himself, _nooo_ , he had to remove his coat and his bloody waistcoat, and roll his sleeves. And, Crowley knew he had been a goner for an eternity now, but even he had to admit, no forearms were supposed to be this sexy. He blamed the forearms.  
  
He was blaming a lot of things. It was a nice change from his usual one-track guilt.  
  
"... And I was telling her about that marvelous little viking museum back in, oh, York, I would think," the angel was talking and Crowley suspected he probably had not even stopped. "I felt the owners had done such a good job, even the smell was right, and instead she was inquiring about our _sleeping arrangements_ , if you would believe this. What a peculiar young lady, indeed. That's very odd, she usually answers." The phone in his hands beeped, cutting off, and the angel bit his lip. It was enough to steer Crowley's thoughts into something entirely different, just for a second, before he was shaking the images of _his_ teeth sinking into full lips and focusing on the problem at hand.  
  
The last time he had seen Anathema he had, of course, noticed her involvement in his and Aziraphale's friendship. It was very hard not to, what with the way the witch's eyes narrowed every time Crowley would call his friend angel, or the way she would zero in on them any time Aziraphale's hand would ghost over the demon's skin.  
  
That stupid, stupid woman, meddling with feelings that were as old as the Earth. She had probably thought she was helping them. Crowley should have been enraged, but the anger was eclipsed by the sudden respect he had towards the witch. He hadn't known a lot of mortals who would dare put a curse on a demon.  
  
This also meant that he was not in any danger whatsoever. Yes, it would hurt but he was sure Anathema would have never done anything to actually harm him. There was no need for the demon to go around spilling his heart like some love-sick fool in a telenovela. He thought he would be relieved by the realization and he tried very hard to be.  
  
Just as well, because the pain was returning, insistent, sharper than ever as if trying to trick him that this time it was for real. This time he wouldn't be able to escape it without revealing everything. Crowley lifted himself, proud his legs were only slightly shaking, and decided that he should leave, go somewhere the angel couldn't see him before the worst had come.  
  
"Don't worry about me, angel," he waved a hand dismissively, when Aziraphale rushed forward. For a moment, Crowley wondered if he swayed just slightly would the other gather him in his arms to keep him from falling. He would have to, he was an angel after all. "I'm not going to die and I'm fairly certain this would go away on its own. Sorry to have bothered you."  
  
"You can't leave, Crowley," Aziraphale pleaded softly after him, just as he had as if in another lifetime, on a different planet, but in reality only 3 years ago. Just like then, the demon felt his heart breaking but didn't dare slow his steps or turn back.  
  
He had just about made it, was just reaching for the door when the angel materialized in front of him, blocking his exit. The other looked so unbelievably angry, so utterly disappointed in him that Crowley almost caved in. There was nothing worse than seeing Aziraphale like this and knowing he had made him feel this way. Then he realised there _would_ be something worse once he had said those three little words. The anger and disappointment would only grow, but there would be disgust there, complete revulsion, Crowley was sure of it.  
  
"You would truly leave and suffer alone when all you have to do is tell me one simple thing." Aziraphale's voice was emotionless, level, but his lip was shaking. Even here, now, he was being so careful, all the emotions the demon could see on his face vacant from his words. It was enough to push him over the edge.  
  
"I- I can't." Almost. Crowley was too much of a coward to chance it.  
  
There was desperation on the angel's face as he took a step forward, close enough that the other could smell him, feel his heat. "Please, don't go. I cannot bear the thought of you suffering." Hands were gasping his wrists, Aziraphale probably having forgotten his friend's apparent distaste to touch and it was getting just a bit too much for the demon.  
  
"Please, just help me understand why you would choose to leave instead of letting me _help_ you!"  
  
There was something moving in Crowley's chest and, before he could say anything, before he could run away, it was unearthing feelings the demon had buried there so many countless centuries ago.  
  
"Because I love you and I don't want you to know." He felt the words rip right from his very soul and he wanted to scream. There it was, the truth laid bare, and had he not been hurting so desperately waiting for a rejection, he would have realized the tightness around his heart was completely gone.  
  
There was horror on Aziraphale's face, one that had appeared the moment he had realized for some reason his words had forced a reply from the other, but another emotion was quickly replacing it. It was shock, but not the way the demon had expected. Not one that said, "How dare you, you lowly, evil scum?" That would come soon after, his ever-so-helpful mind supplied. But for now the shock on the angel's beautiful features, and Crowley stared, willing himself to remember them, just felt like confusion. Almost as if the other could not understand what was happening.  
  
"Okay?" the angel drawled, finally. Crowley's breath was burning in his lungs as he waited for the other to tell him to piss off and never come back again. "Why?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I need a break from all the angst! I want something silly with Crowley trying not to tell Aziraphale he loves him and being super oblivious and pining. Just pure fluff and humour.
> 
> Also Me: You do realise that the main reason Crowley doesn't want to reveal his feelings is that he knows Aziraphale would not be able to love him because he is a demon and unworthy. _ANGST_
> 
> I promise next chapter will be more silly than this one!


	2. Chapter 2

Later on, Crowley would claim he had been perfectly aware of everything, thank you very much. That he wasn't _that_ stupid.  
  
He hadn't known anything.  
  
He really was that stupid.  
  
For now, he just felt light-headed, confusion clinging to him like a fog as he stared at the angel staring at him and tried to understand what, exactly, had Aziraphale even asked him.  
  
"What why?" he finally growled. "I swear to G-Someone, angel, if you are planning on standing there and making me tell you _why_ I love you-"  
  
'We would be here all eternity,' he wanted to continue but didn't. There had been enough truths today as it were, and now, with the curse not extracting them with rusty tongs he felt he could finally breathe. Finally leave. So why wasn't he? Instead, he snapped his fingers and a pair of glasses found themselves ripped away from the nice little place they had settled in under the couch and in his hands. It took only a wince, if it could even be called that, the tiniest itch of Aziraphale's nose, the lightest purse of lips, but the demon knew better, and the glasses went back to their dust mites friends. He was whipped, he knew that much. Usually, it wouldn't trouble him but now he was realising he would do anything to make the other happy. And he wasn't sure what the angel would want from him.  
  
"Of course not, my dear," Aziraphale scoffed and Crowley did the same, mockingly. Pffft, of course not. _Everybody_ knew that the demon loved him, right? It was so damn obvious, huh? "What I meant to say is why would you not want me knowing?"  
  
And now, that, that was a hard hitting question. Crowley was glad the curse had fucked off somewhere, apparently having already done the damage it had been tasked with, otherwise they would have been sat here for centuries, with the demon explaining why Aziraphale wouldn't, _couldn't_ really, love him. And he knew all the reasons, damn it, had made it into a personal mantra but he had always been so stupid, so curious to see what might happen if-  
  
Good job, him, he had gotten exactly what he had always wanted. He could have a party, after the angel was done dancing on his heart and hopes.  
  
"Aziraphale, did you not hear me? I just said I loved you." Crowley considered stomping on his feet but that might have been just a little childish for his taste. And he was feeling especially like a stupid child, with the way the other was looking at him, like the demon had just stormed into his bookstore and proceeded to try to convince him with utter conviction that the sky was blue and that angels were dicks.  
  
Well, the sky was not technically blue and not _all_ angels were dicks, so take that, know-it-all Aziraphale.  
  
"I heard you, my dear," the angel replied simply, patiently, like the child had gone off about Brussels sprouts being yucky.  
  
"I love you," the demon repeated, listening to himself now. Was he pronouncing it right? Hell knew, that was the first time he had said those words. Maybe he was getting the order of them wrong? Maybe it was some hip new thing where everyone went around saying they loved each other. But then again, Aziraphale with his tube black-and-white television that he still considered cutting-edge technology, would not know about it before him, damn it.  
  
"Yes, dearest. I love you too." And there was warmth coming from the angel, heating up his words and the demon's body, making him flush. Ah. That's where the problem was. Crowley would feel relieved, he was sure, once the queasy feeling in his stomach, that had come from hearing those words and knowing the other didn't mean them _like he did,_ disappeared. Give it a century.  
  
"No, no." And why he didn't just let the matter rest made quite the mystery even to himself. It probably had something to do with how sure the angel was about loving him and the fact his self-hatred just wouldn't have that. "I meant I'm in love with you."  
  
"Well, yes. Naturally."  
  
Crowley stared. Naturally. _Naturally?_ Did everyone go around falling in love with angels? He certainly seemed to think so, every single time he decided to take the other outside and felt like there was a horde of love-stricken humans following them. But he had always thought it was just one of those perks of being a vile, stupid demon, in love with the kindest creature that had ever walked the Earth.  
  
Or maybe the dissonance was coming from the fact Aziraphale was still not understanding what was happening.  
  
"I'm in love with you," he insisted again, like the angel was slow. Or Crowley was. _Someone_ was.  
  
Aziraphale just hummed, apparently having decided that the demon's _love confession_ was not that important and had, instead, started tidying up the books the other had crashed to the floor during his earlier arrival.  
  
"As in, I want to date you." Crowley did not sound desperate. He was just confused and eager to find out why, exactly, was the angel acting like everything was old news to him.  
  
"Well, I would certainly hope so," Aziraphale noted, straightening up. Crowley, of course, didn't mourn that decision because he had not been staring at his bent figure and as such, did not already miss the sight of the angel's backside. Because he hadn't seen it, you see.  
  
The demon willed himself to stop staring, or at least move his gaze a tad higher and he realized there was a frown on the other's face. Aziraphale was opening his mouth and judging from the worry in his eyes, he was going to ask him if he was okay.

And Crowley really, really wasn't.  
  
Using the other's confusion and his own frustration, born from a conversation that had never, in his wildest dreams, meant to go this way, he kissed Aziraphale.  
  
To call it a kiss would be to call a waterfall a shower. Or maybe to call a shower a waterfall. It was everything and nothing, at the same time. It was just the sliding of lips against lips, feather-light and soft, with Crowley realizing perfectly well he will be pushed away in a second's time. But then, it was a kiss millennia in the making, one that had featured in the demon's dreams every night for an eternity and it was warmth and love and creation.  
  
"I meant, I want to do this," Crowley groaned breathlessly, when he pulled away.  
  
And, yes. _Finally._ There was shock on Aziraphale's face, eyes wide, one hand frozen on its path to touch his recently kissed lips. Crowley wondered why he had tried so hard to get that expression on the angel's face if, now when it was there, it hurt so fucking much.  
  
Weren't demons supposed to torture other people and not themselves.  
  
"You know, you don't have to, my dear. " Aziraphale's voice was sigh-soft and tentative. And reassuring. Why would it be reassuring? "Certainly, we have been together for a while now, but that doesn't mean-"  
  
Crowley couldn't help it, he laughed, cutting the other off.  
  
"What sort of friends do you fucking have if you find this acceptable?" Anyone who knew him would know the demon was growing hysterical, on the verge of a panic attack, but would also know enough not to comment on it. Aziraphale, who knew him best, just hummed thoughtfully.  
  
"Friends, no. But you and I both know we are past that phase of our relationship," Aziraphale said like it's the most natural thing and maybe that's what did it. Crowley wasn't laughing anymore.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Certainly, yes, you couldn't call the creature you have spent 6 thousand years on this forsaken rock with, the one you had shared so much time, memories and wine with something as trivial as a friend. But at most, the demon would call them best friends. To other people, that is. What he went around and called his angel in the confines of his own mind was his own damn business.  
  
Although... could you even call someone your soulmate, if you knew it would never be returned? Oh well, it had never stopped Crowley before.  
  
"Oh my." The shock on Aziraphale's face was giving way to something else, something darker. Heart-splitting. It was one thing for Crowley to torture himself with the fact the other would never love him. It was quite another to see the way the same notion was hurting the angel. They were still so very close, the demon realized, it would be so easy to draw the other's suddenly so tiny body close. Then he thought better of it. No touching, he vowed, until he had gotten to the bottom of it all.  
  
"Silly me," Aziraphale laughed and it didn't sound like he thought he was silly. It was a place-holder for a litany of curses, similar to the ones Crowley hurled at himself in the dark of night on the regular. "I must have misunderstood. I thought we were-"  
  
"-dating?"  
  
"-back together."  
  
Crowley stared at him. Aziraphale stared back. The angel was the first one to move, an unnoticeable twitch of the head in the direction of the backroom, and he was turning around, with the demon, as always, following him closely. Once on that stupid, lumpy couch, which for some reason was his favourite piece of furniture, go figure _that_ one out, Crowley was still not sure what was happening. He wasn't even sure how he had manage to find himself sitting down when his legs looked like they had given up existing as two separate entities and were trying to desperately fuse together.  
  
"We were dating?" he finally asked, and damn it, his voice did not come out breathless and shaking. "And then we broke up?"  
  
Aziraphale was squinting, like he did when he was in a middle of a book trade and he was trying to figure out if the book was damaged. He didn't really need to squint that hard, if Crowley was a book he would be the most ragged, torn-down thing in the world, held together by hope and sheer bullheadedness.  
  
"Are you sure you are fine, my dear? Perhaps the curse was worse than we thought."  
  
Crowley shook his head. It wasn't the curse's fault. To blame the avalanche of self-hatred and insecurities the demon had been lying beneath for millennia would be the the same as to blame a single raindrop for a flood. And he was a demon, but he wasn't that unfair.  
  
"When did we break up?" he asked nonchalantly as if he was asking what the other would be having for lunch today. Even more nonchalantly, in fact, because he actually cared what the angel would be eating as some things were more enjoyable to observe being devoured than others. No, the way he asked was almost as if they were talking about... talking about-  
  
Aziraphale's eyes were roaming all over his form, in a sort of silent desperation and Crowley couldn't help noticing the way he had clenched his fists. It took him a second to realise exactly what the angel wanted and even less to give it to him.  
  
"You can touch me, angel," Crowley allowed magnanimously. Certainly not begged. In a flash, Aziraphale's hands were on him, lightly pressing against his hands and shoulders and neck and the demon could feel a warmth coming from them, his skin lapping it hungrily, that had nothing to do with the way his heart was beating frantically in his chest. Or maybe everything. Who knew? Not Crowley, that's for sure.   
  
-the weather! That's what their discussion had been like. Although, now, with the angel's insistent but gentle touch, the analogy worked _slightly_ less than before.  
  
Aziraphale was also talking, absentmindedly, and for the millionth time the demon had to force himself to pay attention to the other's words and not his proximity. He couldn't say that with the millennia it had gotten easier.  
  
"In the bandstand. I said all those awful things about not being on 'our side' anymore and, oh, you know I didn't mean any of it, don't you, my dear?" Aziraphale was looking at him now, _while touching him,_ and Crowley had enough brain cells currently not occupied with freaking out about everything to force himself to nod. "Then, later on at the bus stop you offered to share your home with me and you said we were 'on our side' so I thought that meant you forgave me. Of course, I know I should have apologised but I know how you hate talking about your feelings and it was me who had ruined everything, I couldn't possibly ask you to deal with it my way. I do, however, regret everything I said that day, Crowley. I never meant for things to go this far. I know during the years we have had our ups and downs but I would never- I would never actually leave you, my dear boy."  
  
The angel was looking at him pleadingly and he hurried to nod, to forgive for something he had not even let himself think about, in the past 3 years. It hadn't been that bad, certainly it had hurt, but it had been inevitable. It was how it was supposed to go, wasn't it? With the demon trying to tempt his friend and Aziraphale putting him back into his place- far far away from the angel.  
  
Or apparently not, apparently they had been _dating_.  
  
"But if you are still angry I would understand, of course. I'm terribly sorry, my dear, for simply assuming," Aziraphale's voice trailed off and his hands stopped, which was for the best, because that made Crowley actually listen. And shake his head vigorously, because he didn't trust his voice right now.  
  
The last thing he wanted was to break up with the angel, _again_ , when he didn't even know how he had actually won him in the first place. Speaking of which...  
  
"So when did we, uh, that is, how did we?" Crowley waved a hand vaguely between them, hoping against hope that Aziraphale would understand. And he probably did, but was being intentionally obtuse, because he just stared at the demon mutely. That damn bastard. "How did we get together, I mean?"  
  
"Crowley," the other's voice was low, a warning, and the demon realized now was the time for the useless two brain cells roaming in his head he called a brain to get their shit together and, for just once in their pathetic life, work.  
  
He shook his head, projecting confidence he did not possess with his gaze firmly trained on Aziraphale. "Trust me, angel, I feel fine. More than fine. I've never felt better. Just, please, explain to me how we got together. Like I'm an idiot."  
  
At this, Aziraphale snorted and any other day the demon would have taken offense. Now, he was starting to suspect he quite possibly might have been the tiniest bit of a moron.  
  
"Well, it was in the 40s I think and there had just been this dreadful business with-" the angel begun in his usual way of telling a story, starting all the way from the main character's mother's brother's friend's pet and Crowley's fingers drummed impatiently on the couch.  
  
"With the church?" he asked, cutting him off. That would make sense, Aziraphale had been so fucking giddy after he had saved his books and it certainly would not be surprising that the thing that had gotten them together had been the angel's obsession. Well, at least not as surprising as everything happening today and, wow, the bar was so low for that it practically did not exist.  
  
"I would not call it a church, no. They did try to make it a temple if I remember correctly but at the end of the day it was just a cold, damp cave, wasn't it?" Aziraphale looked at him, as if he was actually asking him for his opinion and he probably was. He probably thought this was a nice little exercise in reminiscing about the past and that would have been all fine and dandy if Crowley _could actually remember it_.  
  
The 40s... a cold, damp cave. There was the memory of a memory there, a spark as his two brain cells rubbed together furiously. Certainly the angel didn't mean...  
  
"Are you talking about 40 AD?" he asked incredulously, sitting up just an idea straighter. Of course not, of course he was being silly. 80 years he could excuse. _2000_ \- he would have had to be brain dead not to notice.  
  
"Oh, well, it was a few years after Jesus'," Aziraphale waved a hand as if it explained everything, but the only thing Crowley was sure about was that he had fallen into an alternative universe. That, or he was extremely, without a doubt, the most oblivious and stupid creature on the planet. It was probably the other universe theory. Probably. "unpleasantness. It was the first time we got drunk together and you could not stop talking about how angels were bastard, although those were not the words you used, and I fear I might Fall just from repeating what you did say. Then you looked at me, almost as if you were just realising I was one of those feather-fu- anyway, and you told me, "Present company excluded, of course." And then you said I wasn't even an angel, not a proper one and I know I should have taken that as a grave slight but I knew what you meant. You started talking about us being on 'our own side' and how, no matter what we would always have each other."  
  
Crowley's mouth was open. He knew that because there was a little bit of drool clinging to his chin that he hurriedly wiped away. Not that the other noticed, a content smile on his lips as he recalled what apparently, was the demon's _first_ love confession.  
  
"I knew, of course, that you were drunk so I didn't take it to heart. But then we started spending more time together, you seemed to seek me out, even. And, well," at this Aziraphale flushed and the demon's eyes narrowed. Up until now, there had been absolutely nothing that had managed to shake the nonplussed expression from his friend's gorgeous face and he dreaded to think what he must have done, the memory of which was making the other go pink. "I am an angel, I could feel the love you had in you." A hand squeezed Crowley's knee, holding him down as if he would try to run away. Why would he? He was right where he, apparently, belonged. "I know you hate when I use that word and you are so terrible with your feelings but I do feel it, my dear. And since we are talking now, I cannot miss the opportunity to say, I have never, in all my life here, felt _anything_ like it."  
  
Of course Aziraphale could feel his love. Of course Crowley hadn't even thought to hide it. He would have forced his two brain cells to perform a ritual suicide in celebration of their utter uselessness, but the demon feared what he must be like without them.   
  
But there was something bothering him. Oh, the story was fine, he could actually see it. Him getting wasted at the first possible opportunity with his angel? Check. Him ranting about angels and professing his love to the only one he had ever cared about. Check and fucking check. He was actually surprised at how long he had managed to hold it together, now that he really thought about it.  
  
However, why, in Hell, would Aziraphale, with all his Goodness and kindness and perfectness, want to be with him?  
  
"But I'm a demon," Crowley murmured, more to himself than anything. He didn't expect an answer, and even if he did, it would probably be some bullshit about how good his heart was and how unfair it had been that Crowley had Fallen. How the other liked him despite it and, that would be fine, it wouldn't hurt at all, that the angel loved him despite what he _actually_ was.  
  
"My dear, you have been a demon for 6 thousand years. It never bothered me before." Aziraphale was smiling at him and it was so soft, like everything in him, his whole being welcoming and loving. Towards him. Crowley wondered if that was new, but he knew, he fucking knew it wasn't. He just hadn't let himself see it before, or read too much into it.  
  
"Wait? 6 thousand years? You mean to say-" He didn't finish his thought. He didn't think he could, really. Saying it would make it real, would make the fact Aziraphale had loved him, as he was, as a _demon_ , for as long as Crowley had loved him real. The angel had been right about many things he had said today, but there was something he had fucking nailed on the head. Crowley could not deal with his feelings.  
  
"Oh, give or take a few centuries. You know time was a bit wobbly in the beginning," Aziraphale was trying to be nonchalant about it, but the flush had not left. In fact it was growing, climbing his neck like a vine and Crowley felt his lips burning to trace it.  
  
He could, couldn't he? They were dating, had been dating for 2 millennia, apparently. Humans had those silly rules to not put out before the third date and the angel and him had been on a million of them. Crowley didn't know what stage they were supposed to be on. Probably sharing each other's bodies, except they had, actually, done that as well.  
  
Something occurred to him.  
  
"Then why haven't we." He wiggled his eyebrows and when that didn't work, bit his lip. 'Words, Crowley, fucking use your words,' his inner voice was shouting, the same one that had been too busy screaming at him that Aziraphale would not even look at him twice a few hours ago. It had been making good points back then, but it was certainly sending mixed signals now.  
  
The angel flushed even deeper and Crowley felt his stomach drop. Of course. Of course, there would be a catch. Of course he wouldn't have everything he wanted. He would have felt worse, really, if he wasn't that ecstatic that Aziraphale loved him in _any_ way. He could certainly go without physical contact. He had survived 6 thousand years, what was the rest of eternity. And, if someone could hear his thoughts they would be deader than a dinosaur, meaning they would be so dead they never would have actually existed in the first place, but he probably could tempt the angel into some, dare he even think it, _cuddling_. His body gave a shiver at the thought, as if to remind him how unnaturally cold it was and how much it needed some heavenly warmth.  
  
"Of course, I don't blame you, my dear." Crowley almost scoffed at the reassuring tone. Who would blame him, he was blameless. He hadn't even known they were dating. "And I did try, of course. In Rome for example, when I offered you oysters-"  
  
"Who the Hell is talking about food, angel?"  
  
Aziraphale blinked. Crowley didn't. "Well, I thought you were aware of the more, shall we say, arousing, qualities of oysters? Afterwards, I did ask if you would like to accompany me to my inn but you refused. It was still early in our relationship, I think we hadn't been together even a few years so, of course, I was happy to wait."  
  
Crowley remembered that night, the angel flushed with wine, wrapping his red, glistening lips around the oysters and _sucking_ , and he could also remember excusing himself the moment they had left the tavern to run, or rather, wobble, towards his own bed and have a lie in. Whatever _arousal_ he might have felt that night, it had certainly not been due to any food as he hadn't touched any, the thought of depriving the angel of even one bite almost a sin.  
  
To think he could have actually spend the night with the angel, instead of trying to chase him away from his dreams was almost unbearable.  
  
"And then there was the fertility festival I invited you to, an odd century or two later, which you said wasn't your scene-"  
  
"Hold on!" Crowley raised a finger. _That_ wasn't on him. "You did not say a fertility festival. You told me, and I quote, 'a pleasant evening with like-minded gentlemen'. I thought it was a damn philosophy debate. You invited me to a fucking _orgy_?"  
  
The flush had reached the angel's plump cheeks, making them look like two halves of an apple. Crowley could bet everything he had ever had that they would be delicious.  
  
"I did not know it was an orgy! Plus, it's not as if we would have participated, with everyone else, I mean. We could have found a nice little corner and, as it were, enjoyed ourselves."  
  
The image of them huddled together, half-naked and pressing against each other, the angel panting in his mouth as Crowley explored his body, knowing that any second now they could be discovered, did wicked things to the demon. It stopped his heart and then, as if to make up for it, made it dance in his chest, for one. He did not even want to think what was happening south from there.  
  
"Then, that time we both found ourselves in Paris." 'Incidentally,' the demon wanted to note, but thought it would just show his guilt, "I happened to mention people were calling it the city of love and you laughed at me, Crowley. You laughed! And, of course, there is always the fact you flinch away every single time I try to touch you. I assumed you didn't like it and, honestly, that is perfectly fine with me, I would _never_ force you to do anything you would not like, my dear boy."  
  
Crowley had heard enough, he was getting up and tugging the other to follow him. Aziraphale, trusting, his, let himself be moved, cradled in the demon's arms and even though he was opening his mouth to protest, Crowley knew, he could fucking sense, and of course he could, they had been dating for 2 thousand years, that the angel wanted to make sure Crowley wanted this.  
  
He repeated it again in his mind because the notion was just so fucking absurd. Aziraphale wanted to be sure that Crowley wanted to touch him.  
  
"Oh, angel," he sighed, suddenly ravenous, like a starving man, like a lion who had had a juicy steak just outside his cage for 6 thousand years and had just now realized there was no lock. "It's not that I don't like your touch. The problem is I like it too much."  
  
Aziraphale just about melted in his embrace, and he felt so warm, so perfect, clinging to the demon's every sharp edge. Crowley drew him even closer, cursing the need for such trifle things as bodies, that stood between them.  
  
"May I?" the demon asked, gently. They might have been dating, and he loved that concept, would probably never tire repeating that, but he still needed to make sure. Aziraphale nodded, his curls tickling the other's neck. He looked a little bit dazed, love-drunk and so soft and Crowley was devouring him, lapping at him, as if trying to eat away his very soul.  
  
The whole world fell around them, leaving only the two of them. Crowley could only feel the hand, clutching desperately his shirt, holding him close, the fingers in his hair, pressing him into a desperate kiss. He could only hear soft moans, taste only the angel.  
  
"I haven't," Aziraphale gasped when they parted. Crowley's hand was still behind his neck and he could feel the flush burning his fingers. "I haven't actually done this before."  
  
The demon stared because that kiss had been the best thing that had ever happened to him ever, and if that was their first he dreaded to think what might happen when they actually got _good_ at it. He wondered if Hell would give him a new body, when he, inevitably, discorporated. Was the fact the love of your existence was finally kissing you a good enough reason to die? Well, Crowley had experience twisting the truth, he was sure he could find a way to make it look wicked.  
  
"Wait," he narrowed his eyes, his brain finally catching up with what was happening. "Not ever?"  
  
And there was The Look. Aziraphale pursed his lips, his little adorable nose, and Crowley could kiss it now, when the angel was done pouting, scrunching, his eyes narrowing.  
  
"To even insinuate I would cheat on you is foul, Crowley."  
  
The demon hummed because, fair enough. They had been dating after all, for 2 thousand years.  
  
"And you?" There was something small in Aziraphale's voice as he asked and Crowley had to stop himself from laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Why would he ever want anyone else other than the angel?  
  
"I might be a demon, love, but even I would never cheat on you," he teased and true to his previous thoughts, bent down to peck at the little nose when it relaxed.  
  
"Yes, but you didn't actually know, did you?"  
  
At that, Crowley did laugh. Damn the angel, and damn them both, he would probably not live this one down. Oh, he could imagine it, sitting in a little cottage, on Mars or some other distant planet, millennia from now and the angel would suddenly start laughing and ask him if he remembered the time Crowley didn't notice they were dating for 2 fucking thousand years. Wasn't that a thought.  
  
"I don't think it matters," he answered simply because, well, it didn't. All that time, they had spent it together, they had laughed, they had cried, they had loved. What did it matter if they had called themselves friends or lovers.  
  
Aziraphale beamed at him, probably having reached the same conclusion. "No, I don't think it does."  
  
The demon's grin turned hungry. "So now, if you'd be so kind, I just realized we could have spent the last 2 thousand years fucking our brains out, like a pair of incubi," Crowley whispered against cherry-red lips, just to see if that lovely blush could turn even darker.  
  
And, _oh_ , it could.  
  
"Crowley, don't be so crass," Aziraphale all but squeaked, indignantly.  
  
He sounded so proper, even flushed with desire, shivering every time Crowley's fingers would caress that particular spot just below his curls, and the demon wanted to see him fall apart. Wanted to be the one who made him fall apart. His fingers danced over round little buttons, teasing with each feather-soft touch, coaxing sounds he would not have imagined even in his wildest dreams.  
  
To his credit, Aziraphale did hold it together for far longer than the demon thought he would. But once their shirts were off, and Crowley didn't even remember getting rid of his own, and hot skin was sliding against even hotter one and Aziraphale was sobbing brokenly, clinging to the demon's body. Almost as if he was drowning and Crowley was his salvation. Or was he the storm, making him lose his balance, his mind.  
  
Demons weren't very good with metaphors. They were, however, quite good at temptation and judging from the way Aziraphale was begging for a touch, a kiss, anything, lack of experience really didn't matter as long as you had the desire to please. Oh, and as long as you had been in a relationship for 2 thousand years. Crowley wrapped one hand around him, the other snaking around his waist, and that had been a good call as the moment long fingers wrapped around the angel's throbbing cock his legs almost gave out.  
  
"Oh, fuck," Aziraphale growled and if Crowley thought that was hot he had no idea what to do when the other bit into his lips with ferocity the demon had only dreamed of.  
  
Crowley tutted, the rhythm he had been building slowing down to a crawl even when the angel whined prettily in his arms. "Do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?"  
  
"Oh, I would do far more with that mouth once you decide _to get on with it_."  
  
There was thunder in Aziraphale's stormy eyes and there Crowley had been, thinking he was the one doing all of the teasing.  
  
"And please don't call me your boyfriend. We have been together for an eternity, we are not some horny teenagers."  
  
At that moment, they were exactly like a pair of adolescents who had just discovered that they bodies were for something better than just transport but Crowley did not voice that thought because 1) Aziraphale would probably think this was a worthy topic for a debate and 2) thinking in any manner about teenagers while doing the dirty- no, just... no.  
  
"What should I call you then? Partner? Lover? Fuck-buddy? My soulmate?"  
  
The demon punctuated each question with a kiss, a drag of tongue and teeth over sensitive skin. Lover got, by far, the best reaction but that might have just been the fact it was sighed onto an exposed neck, right where Crowley could taste the other's quickening pulse.  
  
"Angel." The word as soft as a moan almost got mixed with everything else dripping like honey from Aziraphale's mouth, but the demon, always attuned to the other's every move, every word, caught it. "Angel is fine."  
  
And angel _was_ fine, wasn't it? It had been enough for 2 thousand years and Crowley realised it would be perfect for even longer.

Perhaps, even an eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I or did I not drag them into the Fluff, kicking and screaming!? I'm actually proud of myself! I did sneak some angst in there, but come on, it's Crowley. How do you write Crowley without the angst? 
> 
> Also, I realised I have a fic where they have sex but are not a couple and now, one where they are a couple but due to a _certain demon's_ emotional incompetence they are completely platonic. Apparently, I just don't like seeing them happy! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Edit: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know I have finally started the Tumblr. [Here it is](https://waitingtobebroken.tumblr.com/) if you want to come cry with me about Ineffable Idiots


End file.
